


El Abrazo

by Kitmistry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Man Dean Winchester, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Dean Winchester, Pining Dean Winchester, Romance, Tango, Tango Teacher Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-16 14:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18096029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitmistry/pseuds/Kitmistry
Summary: “Tango begins between us,” Castiel breathes, squeezing Dean’s fingers between his own, head bobbing to the rhythm of imaginary music. “The steps, and the dancing, and all the other stuff are only the result.”Dean closes his eyes, following Castiel and completely trusting him not to slam him into a wall or something. It’s surprisingly easy to give over control to him, even if Dean doesn’t always follow perfectly.It’s nice.Just the two of them and the sound of their shoes against the wooden floor. Serene. Intimate.It makes his heart skip a beat.Or the one where Jessica forces Dean to learn how to tango





	El Abrazo

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wanted to write for so long, I hope you all enjoy reading it.

 

_Saturday, May 19_ _th_ _, 2018_

Dean squints, trying to make out the tiny letters that are squeezed together on the brass plaques of the apartment buzzer. Shit, he is not even thirty-five, and he can barely see what’s written there. The fact that there are somewhere between ten and fifteen similar brass plaques with names, and floors, and apartment numbers certainly doesn’t help.  

Oh wait!  

There it is.

_Academia del Tango, 4_ _th_ _Floor._

Dean presses the button and waits a couple of minutes before he is buzzed in. The building is fairly old. He eyes the elevator suspiciously before choosing the stairs instead. He is not going to ride an elevator that is inside a cage shaft. Dean Winchester does not have a death wish.

On second thought, Dean Winchester does have a death wish after all, but for different reasons. Climbing the stairs to the fourth floor is not an easy feat, and no matter how much a tiny Sam-voice bitches at the back of his mind, he is tempted to give up bacon and start exercising regularly only once. He makes it to the top without having a heart attack, so he counts that as a win.

Remind him again why he is doing this? Oh, right. Sam’s wedding.

Now Dean is not one to care about what other people plan for their big day. He didn’t even care when Jessica first said she wanted to learn tango for her and Sam’s first dance. If Sam didn’t mind, who was Dean to judge them. When Jessica came up with the idea that _Dean_ should dance with her, too... Well, then Dean had a few choice things to say.  

Mainly, ‘fuck no,’ ‘no way,’ and ‘over my dead body.’

And then Jessica went all bridezilla on him. Sam was all too happy to sit back and watch with a shit eating grin as his fiancée bullied his brother into submission. It didn’t even take that long. Charlie and Benny had a bet running on whether he would cave in after five or seven days. Dean gave in after eight just so they had to pay him the money they’d bet. At least he made a hundred bucks out of this circus. Daddy needed new dance shoes.

Dean is not exactly sure why Sam doesn’t mind that his wife-to-be wants to tango with his brother. From what he knows, which is almost next to nothing, tango is a passionate, sexy dance. Why on earth would any bride want to dance that with the best-man?  

When asked, Jessica just said, “You do what you are told, and you do it without complaining.”

Sam shrugged, then said, “It’s her new passion. If her father hadn’t had that hip surgery, he’d be getting lessons too.”

So that’s what Dean does now. He bought the shoes, and he put a reminder on his phone, and now he is walking inside a dance studio with wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors, where a man with dark hair stands with his back to him. He is bored out of his mind, and he is already regretting coming here when the man turns. Dean sees high cheekbones, a chiseled jawline and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen in his life.

Damn. This whole tango business might be fun after all.

The man cocks his head to the side as he eyes Dean from head to toe. Dean does the same, and good lord, if he is going to have a heart attack, then at least let it be in this room, where this guy will have to give him first aid.  

“You brought shoes,” the man says, nodding at the bag hanging from Dean’s hand. “Good.”

He steps forward, footsteps barely heard as he pads across the room, until he is standing across from Dean. He extends his arm. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean puts on his most charming smile and shakes Castiel’s hand. A nice handshake. Firm but not bone crushing. Castiel has his sleeves rolled to his elbows, leaving tanned forearms exposed. Dean allows himself only two seconds to stare at them. Okay, fine. Three seconds. He stops before he starts acting like a creep, though, keeping it classy.  

“Hey man, I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

Castiel releases Dean’s hand, but he doesn’t step away. He stares straight at Dean, lips half-parted, and really, it’s totally unfair that Dean has to keep it civil. The guy looks like he just walked out of one of his wet dreams, and honestly Dean doesn’t think his imagination could come up with something that good. This is how porn usually starts, right?

“Let’s see you walk,” Castiel says finally, and Dean blinks.

Walk?  

“I thought I was here for tango lessons?” Dean looks around him. The place looks about right. Barre handrail against the wall, iPod docking station in the corner, and framed pictures of pairs dancing hanging from the walls.

Walking towards the other side of the room to bring a chair, Castiel frowns. “You are Sam Winchester’s best man, no?”

The chair is placed next to Dean with its back against the wall. “I- uh... Brother actually. But yes, I am also his best man.”

“Then you are in the right place.” Castiel gestures to the chair. “Please, change your shoes. We’ll start with walking.”

“I didn’t know we had to be runway models to tango,” Dean jokes, his mouth tilting up in that smirk that Charlie has assured him time and time again is absolutely insufferable. Castiel tilts his head at Dean in a very owlish way, unruly strands of hair moving around with his movement. He doesn’t comment, but he does stare at Dean until he feels uncomfortable enough to comply.

Turns out that just because Castiel could very well be the star of an R-rated film, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t take his job seriously. He has Dean walk up and down the room a couple of times, to the point Dean is tempted to say something very inappropriate about the intense way he seems to be staring at his butt. Then he explains that tango is a walking dance, and that even if Dean doesn’t learn anything else for the next ten lessons they have together, he will learn how to tango walk.

“The caminata,” Castiel explains, demonstrating for Dean.

Castiel looks like he is gliding across the room instead of walking, but when Dean tries gliding, he gets chastised for doing it wrong. They spend the next hour walking. Sometimes side by side, sometimes only Dean while Castiel observes. He gets corrected more times than he can count - ‘Keep your knees flexed- not that flexed,’ and ‘Relax your shoulders,’ and ‘Your stepping foot should always point to the same direction as your body.’ - but by the end of the sixty minutes they have together Castiel keeps mostly quiet. That’s probably a good sign.

Dean is so exhausted when he leaves that he forgets to even think about flirting with his hot teacher. His warm shower is calling for him, like a siren to a man lost in the sea.

_Tuesday, May 22_ _nd_ _, 2018_

It’s family dinner night over at Sam’s place, which means Dean arrives with a chicken pot pie carefully wrapped and tucked under his armpit, and two tupperware containers full of mashed potatoes and vegetable stir fry. He loves his future sister-in-law, but the girl can’t cook for her life, and if he leaves the cooking to Sam, they’ll end up eating bunny food. So here he is, graciously saving the day.

They compliment him on his cooking, and Dean plays coy because, _duh_ , his cooking is awesome, all three of them already know. They talk about their day, and about how Bobby has the flu and couldn’t make it tonight. Dean makes a mental note to make him some chicken soup but not stay too long, because no one likes listening to Bobby grumble about being cursed and the only person in the history of humanity to get the flu right before summer starts. The topic naturally moves to the tango lessons, and both Sam and Jessica are quick to reassure Dean that it was difficult for them at the beginning as well.

Dean pokes at a piece of carrot that’s left on his plate. “I don’t know man, we spent a whole hour with him just watching me walk up and down the room.”

Sam and Jessica exchange a surprised look. “A whole hour? We only did ten minutes or so,” Jessica says before a soft thump stops her. Jessica sends Sam a dirty look for kicking her under the table, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“I’m sure he just had less time with us. You know, because there were two of us,” Sam says, and Jessica easily agrees with him.

That doesn’t make sense, but Dean doesn’t correct him. He shrugs and puts more pot pie in his plate to wash down the disappointment. He didn’t expect to be any good at dancing, but he at least expected to be as good as his two-left-feet, I-am-too-gigantic-to-fit-in-a-room baby brother.

“Well at least the teacher is cute,” he grumbles, and Sam laughs at the same time Jessica exclaims, “Isn’t he?”

Sighing, she stares into the distance dreamily. “Is it too late to elope with my tango teacher?”

“Do it before we have to pay the second half of the lesson fees,” Sam jokes and earns a playful slap to his shoulder.

“Look out, Sammy,” Dean says, after he swallows his bite. “Seems like you have competition.”

“Can you blame me?” Jessica asks, and no, Dean really can’t blame her. Castiel really is _that_ hot.  

“Tango is the most romantic dance ever,” she adds, and okay, their reasons for thinking Castiel is irresistible are different, but still valid. Personally, Dean had paid more attention to thick thighs and nice fingers than tango dancer.

If anything, tango dancer reminds Dean of all the walking Castile made him do, and how his calves burned after their lesson. Dancing is not a  hobby he will be taking up any time soon, even if the teacher is the new star of Dean’s fantasies.

“Tango is the most difficult dance ever,” he says just because he needs to vent after the involuntary cardio session of Saturday. And it wasn’t even the fun kind of cardio.

Jessica shoots him a sympathetic look. “It gets better, I promise.”

_Saturday, May 26_ _th_ _, 2018_

It doesn’t get better.  

It only gets more difficult. Physically at least, because mentally, Dean might be warming up to this whole deal.

For their second lesson Castiel tries to teach Dean how to walk together with another person, which, awesome, more walking. Hashtag sarcasm. He suspects Jessica and Sam did this on their first lesson, but he doesn’t complain.  

The lesson starts with a long explanation about what tango is, because apparently, it’s not just a dance.

Or a walk.

Or a walking dance.

“I thought it was a lot of frilly moves,” Dean jokes, and Castiel tilts his head in confusion at him. God, it’s the most adorable thing Dean has ever seen.

“The steps are the last thing, Dean. Yes, the steps and the moves, embellishments as we call them, are what most people notice, but the tango begins here.”  

He presses a hand on Dean’s chest.  

“Tango is a connection-” He steps into Dean’s personal space, and Dean can smell his cologne.  “-a relationship. It’s a discussion, if you will. We say that the man leads, but only where the woman will let him,” Castiel explains in that low, gravelly voice of his that sends Dean’s mind straight to the gutter, and it’s hard to come up with a joke to answer all that. “Although I suppose it’s kind of sexist to only define the roles of leader and follower as man and woman.”

Instead of asking how else these roles can be defined like he wanted to do, Dean finds himself being posed, one hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the other being held in his palm extended out.  

And just like that they’re breathing the same air.  

Castiel lowers his eyelids so that they are half closed, and he takes a step forward. Instinctively, Dean takes a step back. A step to the right and then another back. It’s easy to follow him, his intentions clear by the way his body moves just so even before his feet change position.

“Tango begins between us,” Castiel breathes, squeezing Dean’s fingers between his own, head bobbing to the rhythm of imaginary music. “The steps, and the dancing, and all the other stuff are only the result.”

Dean closes his eyes, following Castiel and completely trusting him not to slam him into a wall or something. It’s surprisingly easy to give over control to him, even if Dean doesn’t always follow perfectly.  

It’s nice.  

Just the two of them and the sound of their shoes against the wooden floor. Serene. Intimate.  

It makes his heart skip a beat.

They take a few more steps in what Castiel calls ‘an open embrace’, and then they part. He asks Dean to take the leading role, but it’s not as easy as it looks, so they spend ten minutes doing some ‘connection exercises’. They sound ridiculous and like something that belongs in some hippy cult, but they work, and Dean manages to lead Castiel backwards around the room. He even learns a couple of more complicated steps, like the ocho and the cross step, and Castiel teaches him how to rock the weight of his partner from one foot to the other. By the end of the lesson he even knows what ‘position cero’ means.  

The second lesson feels like it passes in ten minutes, and yet Dean’s done a lot more work than he did on his first. Miracles do happen, apparently. His thigh muscles are burning, his shoulder feels sore, and he is not sure he has it down pat, but at least he made progress today, and Castiel rewarded him with two different, but equally bright, gummy smiles for being such a good student.  

Damn, Dean is going to be in trouble if he doesn’t rein in this little crush.

_Friday, June 1_ _st_ _, 2018_

_“-_ and then Cas did this thing-”

“Will you please shut up?” Charlie groans from the armchair she is curled on. “This is all you ever talk about anymore.”

“Well excuse me for sharing my hobbies with my friends.” Dean gestures at Charlie and Benny, beer still in hand.  

The tv is turned on, but the voice is so low it might as well be muted, and truth be told no one has been paying much attention to the movie. It’s not even that good to be honest. Blame Benny for picking it. Even _he_ is playing some kind of cooking game on his phone. Charlie should be thanking Dean for filling the silence instead of letting her waste her time napping on his armchair.

“So tango’s your new hobby?” she asks, half turning to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

“You know- until the wedding.” He avoids looking back at her. Instead he traces patterns with his thumb on the bottle, leaving paths on the condensation.

“Uh-huh.”

Benny’s fingers tap tap away on the screen of his phone, grilling, preparing, and serving food as fast as he possibly can. “He’s Cas now?”

“It’s easier to say Cas than Castiel,” Dean says, but his protests fall on deaf ears.

Charlie grabs another slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table and mumbles between bites, “You should ask him out.”

Yeah. Like Dean hasn’t thought of that before. “He’s my teacher,” he says scandalised. “He is being paid by Sam to-”

“Didn’t stop you before,” Benny chimes in unhelpfully.

“I’d never-”

“Girl that was tutoring Sam on German?” Benny smirks, then he raises his fist in victory as the very annoying, and very girly song of top score plays from his phone.

Dean pouts. “That was different. _I_ ’m the student now. I’d never do that.”

Charlie chokes on her last bite. “Oh Dean,” she says in between laughing and coughing. “Your porn searches would beg to differ.”

Fucking great. This is why Dean should be more thorough with deleting his browser history. He tries to form words and complain, say something about fantasy and reality being different or how Charlie should keep her fucking viruses out of Dean’s laptop, but his throat comes up dry.

With his whole face burning, he sinks further into the cushions of his couch and stubbornly ignores Benny when he says, “Next time you should have _Cas_ bend you over his knee and spank you if you’re not a good student.”

They snort and chuckle and reassure Dean a hundred times that they are just joking, and he still flips them off and hoards all the leftover pizza for himself. That ought to teach them.  

 

_Saturday, June 2_ _nd_ _, 2018_

The door is waiting open for him. Dean slips through and shrugs his coat off. Castiel has his back to him, going through his iPod to find a song, and it might be Dean’s imagination, but his pants look tighter today.

He can’t be blamed for enjoying the view. No harm done. Castiel hasn’t even noticed he’s-

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean startles. “Dude, are you a psychic or something?”

Castiel turns to frown at him, and it’s so familiar by this point that Dean can close his eyes and recreate in it his mind. The line between his brows, the half-opened lips, the hooded eyes. He doesn’t.

“We are in a room full of mirrors.”

Oh, right. Dean’s ears burn with embarrassment, but he shrugs nonchalantly. Fake it, ‘till you make it.

Their third lesson is different. Mostly because for once Dean is excited to be here. He bounces at the balls of his feet, and he grins like an idiot to the point Castiel pauses and stares at him for a couple of minutes. Is that too much? Should Dean act more casual? That would probably be a good idea. Except he can’t, because he’s been counting down the minutes until he could come here, so maybe he’s acting like an idiot, but he is a happy idiot, and that makes him a better student, right? Right.

“Usually we would be talking about musicality and improvisation, but I assume your interest in tango is only for the wedding dance.”  

The song that Castiel has chosen starts with the now familiar beat, and the dulcet tones of violins accompanied by a piano fill the room. Dean sways in the rhythm. He doesn’t correct Castiel because there is nothing to correct, thank you very much.

“So, I guess we can skip that,” Castiel adds when it’s evident Dean won’t contradict him. His shoulders sag, and his mouth twists in that way that Dean knows means that if it was up to him, everybody would be getting proper dance lessons. It’s cuter than any man has a right to be.

Castiel comes closer, and Dean steps forward to meet him in the middle of the room, excitement tingling at the end of his fingertips as Castiel takes his palm and rests a hand high on his back. It’s embarrassing how Dean immediately relaxes in Castiel’s hands, practically melting into the touch. As always, Castiel leads first to demonstrate. “We talked about connection the other day, and we saw how to put this into practice.”

“Right,” Dean agrees. “Use hands to guide. Got it.”

Castiel shakes his hand that is holding Dean’s palm, wordlessly instructing him to relax his shoulder. He looks up at Dean and sighs.  

“No, you don’t use your hands. You use the connection. It’s just that the connection is more often than not through your hands. But it might also be here.” He draws Dean closer until they are chest to chest, Castiel’s breath ghosting over his shoulder, Dean’s hand sliding from his shoulder to rest on his back until they are half hugging and half dancing.  “Or here.” He moves his arm away, giving Dean space to take a step – the beginning of a forward ocho, he realises – but then cuts him off by placing his foot against Dean’s and guides him back to standing with his legs crossed.

Castiel swirls Dean around the room slowly, in steps Dean already knows but which are sometimes cut off by Castiel placing his foot in front of Dean’s, or pushing it to sweep against the floor. They move, and they come together only to break apart again. Foot to foot, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. It’s playful and teasing. It’s a form of seduction.  

Dean can barely keep up, but he holds on to Castiel for dear life.

The music soars around them, vibrates against Dean’s skin and soon, too soon, it fades into nothing, and Castiel releases him. Dean feels hot all over, and for a split second he is sure he can see the same expression mirrored in Castiel’s face, but then Castiel opens his mouth, and that moment is gone.

“You’re getting better, but we still have a lot to cover. Now for today’s lesson-”

They start with something called dissociation, which Dean doesn’t really understand, until Castiel has him stand tall and try to twist his torso first then let his hips follow. Easier said than done. Then the opposite. Dean picks it up surprisingly fast, and Castiel, humming in appreciation, moves on to the basic tango step. They work on that for the rest of the lesson, first with Castiel leading, then Dean, until they are both sure he can do it even in his sleep.

There’s no reason for Dean to linger back after their hour is finished, no matter how much he racks his brain to come up with one. He leaves with an awkward wave that Castiel returns with a half-lift of his hand as he watches Dean go down the stairs.

_Sunday, June 3_ _rd_ _, 2018_

The browser is set to private, the curtains are drawn, and the door is locked. There’s even a small post it note covering his webcam because it’s not above Charlie to hack it.

It may be possible that Dean is a little paranoid.

And embarrassed.

Mostly embarrassed.  

He doesn’t even live with Sam anymore, so all these precautions may be taking it a bit too far, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. He enters the words on the search bar, and a list of videos shows up on his screen. The first one has a thumbnail of a dancing studio, not unlike the one he goes to for his lessons, and a man standing in the middle, one foot extended back, arms lifted to embrace his imaginary partner.  

_Men’s Technique and Exercises in Argentine Tango._

In the video, the man shows a couple of exercises focused on improving one’s balance and how to ‘master your axis.’ He is old, with graying hair, and a lot leaner than Castiel, but he moves with the same grace and seamless precision. He demonstrates each exercise for a few repetitions before moving on to the next one.  

It’s a fifteen-minute video, and it takes Dean a good half hour to get through the first exercise. That doesn’t mean he does it perfectly. No, no, no. It only means he is not flailing around like a fish out of water anymore.  

He stands in the middle of his living room, coffee table pushed to the side, and he tries to mimic the circle the man does with his projecting leg. It feels like he is doing it right, but he can’t be sure, so he pauses the video and carries the mirror from his bedroom. There. Now he can see what he is doing. He tries the circle again, but it looks half-assed and not as clean as he wanted, so he tries again.

And again.

He watches the video in slow motion – even though the man was already going pretty slow to begin with – and tries again, this time remembering Castiel’s advice: Keep your knees flexed, shoulders flat. There, that’s a lot better.  

Step number two: Take an actual step.  

This is something he is confident in. He didn’t spend a whole hour walking up and down just to mess up a step. Then the man pivots on the ball of his foot, his other foot somehow drawing a perfect circle as he turns.

Dean almost falls when he tries to do the same.  

Through gritted teeth, he repeats that part of the exercise a couple of dozen times until he can do it without being in danger of falling over. His circle is far from perfect and clean, and he is pretty sure that if Castiel could see him, he’d be poking him until he was in the proper stance, but it will have to do.

And so it goes.  

Circle with his leg. Step. Pivot.

Circle. Step. Pivot.

When he feels confident he understands the movement, he moves on to the next exercise, which is similar only this time the foot that makes the circle doesn’t stay back. It circles as the man pivots and then comes forward to cross at the ankle. The man does it again, adding a kick.

It takes Dean half an hour before he gives up. One and a half exercises will have to do.

He gets rid of all the evidence of his late-night activities, and when Benny calls to ask what he’s up to he lies and says he’s watching a movie. He won’t admit that he was doing extra practice for his dance lessons to anyone. He barely admits it to himself.

It's not like he wants to learn how to dance! How ridiculous! Scoff, roll the eyes and scoff again.  

No, he is merely trying to... cut down on Sam’s expenses. If he gets better then he might need less lessons, and then he won’t have to climb four flights of stairs every week – even though it’s pretty damn good exercise, what with the wedding coming up and everything – and he won’t see Castiel, and they won’t be close to one another, breaths mingling, a steady weight on Dean’s waist as he is being led around the room, broad shoulders, wild dark hair, baby blue eyes and- and-

And Dean really needs to stop that train of thought.  

_Saturday, June 9_ _th_ _,2018_

There’s a woman waiting with Castiel when Dean arrives for his fourth lesson. She is wearing yoga pants and a pair of heels that have a snakeskin pattern on them. She has her hands on the barre, twirling her hips and kicking her legs with her back to him. Castiel introduces her as Meg.

“She is an experienced dancer. I think she will be a suitable partner for you until you are more skillful. Then we can move on to your choreography with Jessica.”

There’s a coldness spreading through Dean, which is ridiculous because he can’t expect to only ever dance with Castiel - this is a lesson so that he can dance with his future sister-in-law after all. But his time with Castiel is limited, as Dean so frequently reminds himself. There are only six lessons left, not counting this one, and for most of them, Dean has to assume Jessica will be present.

Which means Dean is set on disliking this Meg chick from the get-go. An endeavour that proves to be as easy as the snap of his fingers when Castiel draws Meg to him to demonstrate a dance.

They stand close together, Castiel’s cheek only a breath away from the top of Meg’s head, and then they are dancing, bodies pressed together, eyes half-closed, feet moving in perfect sync. They walk and turn, with sharp precision and soft graceful movements, feet tangling and then separating, Meg twirling and then falling back into Castiel’s arms. It’s flirty and intimate, and Dean feels both like an intruder and a hot pang of jealousy curling in his gut.

It’s ridiculous. Dean has already proclaimed to anyone with ears, and most of all to himself, that he will not, under any circumstances, act on his (maybe more than just a) crush, and yet he stands there and watches as Meg drags her calf over Castiel’s thigh adoringly, and as Castiel’s fingers press into her waist, and he wants to throw something at her to make her disappear.

But most of all, what makes his breath catch in his throat and his head spin in a way that is unrelated to how fast Meg kicks her legs is that now Dean realises that he was wrong all along. Tango isn’t sexy at all. At least not in the way he had it in his mind. It’s sensual and graceful. It’s a soft and caring relationship and not the urgent and provocative image he always had in his head. And Dean wants that. He wants the feather light touches and the adoring looks, and he wants that so bad he averts his eyes from the pair dancing in front of him.

The song draws to a close, and Castiel draws Meg to a final pose. After a performance like that there should be something, clapping at the very least, but Dean is the sole audience, and he is a little shit, so he just says, “I can’t do that.”

Meg flashes him a wolfish grin, combing her hair away from her face with her long fingers. “No, you can’t. But we’ll work up to it.”

Castiel gestures for Dean to come closer. It’s his turn to wrap his arms around Meg’s curvy body. “That’s still too complicated. Today we’ll focus on something simple and then we can start on the choreography I have prepared for you.”

_Saturday, June 16_ _th_ _,2018_

Dean has two lessons with Meg, and they crush all his new-found confidence to crumbles. Castiel is always patient and attentive, and he keeps his hand on the small of Dean’s back when he explains something, but Meg is the complete opposite. She is pushy and demanding, and she is not averse to hitting Dean when he does a mistake. Which is more often than not. There is one memorable moment in which Dean swears he did everything perfectly, he did the steps and added the embellishments, and he did all that perfectly on time with the beat Castiel’s keeping with his hands, but that still earns him a punch to the chest.

“Ouch,” Dean complains, rubbing at what is probably going to be a bruise. Meg is short, but she sure is strong. “What was that for? I think I did good.”

“You did perfect, Dean-o,” Meg drawls. “You just forgot to lead me while you were doing your own steps.”

It’s true, Dean left Meg standing while he was busy staring at his own feet, but he will never admit it. “Maybe you’re not that good of a dancer. Ever thought about that?” he scowls, and Meg’s smile is full of promises of future torture, but Castiel intervenes and they move on.

This is ridiculous. Dean won’t even have to really lead Jessica, they’ll already know the steps, but both Meg and Castiel insist that he has to learn the real stuff. The choreography Castiel has prepared is honestly a lot less complicated than Dean expected, but he still keeps forgetting some of the steps. He understands why Castiel had him and Jessica learn how to do it separately before they started training together.

By the end of the lesson Dean feels like all these weeks have been for nothing, and he still can’t dance for shit. If he had a towel to throw, he would, but as it is, he changes his shoes and keeps his head determinedly lowered as Meg heads on first, muttering something about being late to her pole-dancing class. That’s where Castiel finds him.

“You are frustrated.”

Dean looks up, tempted to fire back a joke, but Castiel stares down at him with such intensity and focus he goes for honest instead. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Cas, but this dance thing doesn’t come easily to me.”

“I’d have to disagree,” Castiel says, hands clutched behind his back in a way that can only be deliberate. “I think you are doing a wonderful job, _and-”_ he puts more emphasis on his next words when Dean snorts, “-the important thing anyway is that you are doing this for the people that you love.”

“This isn’t a Disney movie.”

Castiel squints at him. “Do you think there’s any chance Jessica and Sam won’t be grateful for what you are doing? They will surely appreciate your effort, whether the end result is a perfect ten or a solid eight.”

“More like a pity five,” Dean says, tying his shoelaces tighter than he wanted to, but he is not in the mood to redo them so they’ll have to do for now.

Castiel takes a moment to answer, processing Dean’s words and his general attitude. “Dean,” he says gently, and his shoulders shift just so, like he was about to reach forward but held himself back at the last second. “You have barely two and a half months to learn a new skill. No one expects you to be perfect. Nobody is perfect when they start something new. They work up to it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I can work up to it.” That’s a half-lie. Dean had thought once he might be able to pull this off. Before Meg showed up and everything Dean had learned up to that point evaporated under her scorching impatience. He is learning how to tango all over again, and really, what kind of fuck-up can’t even follow basic instructions after a whole month of lessons? Dean Winchester, apparently, that’s who.

“You know, in tango, in every kind of dance, in life in general, there will always be partners that you click with and partners you don’t.”

“What you’re a philosopher now, too?”

“Officially, I’m a chiropractor,” Castiel says, and he laughs like there’s a private joke somewhere in there that Dean doesn’t get. “Or at least I have a paper that says I am. My life led me to a different path as you can see.” He gestures around the room, and Dean can’t say he is surprised by this revelation. Castiel had always been very well aware of how a human body works and exactly which muscles should be engaged when dancing and which muscles Dean was engaging instead.

“So, tango was your side-project and kind of ended up becoming your real job?”

“Something like that. I had a lot of side projects before settling on tango.”

“A lot of ‘partners’,” Dean says.

“A lot of ‘partners’,” Castiel agrees, adding air quotes with his fingers. “My point is, you should dance with as many partners as you can, to get a feel of how different bodies move and react to your technique. How they fit with you.”

“Dude, what are you saying? Because I think we’re having two different conversations here.” Castiel can’t possibly be talking about romantic partners, right? Like, this was totally not the conversation they were having, so how did they end up here? They were speaking about tango and possibly career choices, which was a little out of the blue but kinda connected to the bigger picture?

“I’m being literal,” Castiel says, confused as to how anyone might not understand him. Dean exhales, not sure if he is relieved or not they are still talking about dancing.  

“So, no Meg next week?” There’s a lot of hope in his voice which Dean doesn’t even bother to hide because two lessons with the devil are enough, thank you very much.

“Actually, I was planning a lesson with Jessica, Sam _and_ Meg. It seems easier that way. But I was also going to invite you to a milonga.”

“A what?” Dean asks, his brain choosing to ignore the double meaning of _I was going to invite you_ , because twice in the same conversation is too many misinterpretations for him to handle _._

“A milonga. I suppose you could think of it as a dance party of sorts.”

“A tango dance party?”

Castiel smiles softly. “Yeah. Our academy has one at least every week. I think it would be educational for you.”

It’s a jarring thought that Castiel has more students than just Dean and his family. Although it makes sense that a dance teacher needs to eat, and three people a month don’t really help make ends meet. It's only logical that Castiel would have real groups with actual students that came in because they wanted to learn how to dance, and not just because a blonde made them, but Dean had never thought about it before. “Dude, no party should be educational.”

Castiel shrugs. “There will be alcohol.”

Of course Castiel would be the one person on planet earth to invite Dean to an _educational dance party_ and make it sound like a good idea. “Wow, Cas. You surely know how to sweet talk a guy.”

“One of my many talents,” Castiel laughs, and his nose crinkles. Dean is lucky he is already sitting, because he would have fallen over with how weak he goes at the knees at the sight of it. “You can find the event on Facebook, and we also post all the dates on Instagram. You have my number, right?”

Dean does have it. He’s never had to use it, because they always plan the next lesson at the end of the previous one, but he has it. Dean hopes that his face is not betraying any feelings, but he spends a good ten minutes every night before falling asleep looking at it, wondering if he should ask Castiel on a date after all. He hasn’t, and he probably won’t, but he thinks about it.

_Monday, June 18_ _th_ _-Thursday, June 21_ _st_ _, 2018_

Jessica narrows her eyes suspiciously at him when he asks for the Facebook page of Castiel’s dance academy. “What do you want with it?”

Dean keeps his expression carefully neutral, but his heart is fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. “Just to check it out.”

“Dean Winchester, what are you not telling me?”

“Nothing. Jesus, forget about it.”

He doesn’t ask Sam about it, because he is sure about two things: A) Sam does not have the Facebook page, and B) he’ll tell Jessica. And she is already suspicious enough of him as it is. He doesn’t need her snooping around and finding out that he is considering attending a fucking _Milonga_ of all things.  

But where there’s will there’s a way. He may not be a Charlie-level hacker, but he does have a few aces up his sleeve. He goes through all the Facebook pages Jessica has liked (is appalled when he sees one is for a website that sells BDSM sex toys and almost gives up afraid of finding anything else that will make him want to plunge his own eyes out; he really does not need to know what kinky shit his brother is into) and finds the page he is looking for, Jessica none the wiser.

The Milonga event is pinned right on the top of the page with a painting of a pair dancing as the header. Every Thursday at 9pm, the event helpfully informs Dean along with a pinned location. His cursor hovers over the _Interested_ button, but then he remembers that Jessica might see it. He chooses to put a reminder on his phone calendar instead. Not that he is going to forget. No, he is going to obsess over this all day and night, like he did before his first date with Rhonda Hurley in high school. Thankfully, all that stress paid off. Rhonda was a fun date and even more fun in the bedroom. She is the reason Dean has a pair of satin pink panties hidden in his drawer that he likes to wear sometimes. Unlike _some_ people, he doesn’t go around liking pantie websites, though. Some things should be private. Damn you, Jessica Moore!

From there it’s easy to find the Instagram page – Jessica is not following that one, he notes – which is filled with pictures and short videos from previous Milongas and group lessons. There are pairs dancing in a picture, a live band in another, cocktails lined on the bar, people smiling for the camera. And Cas, Cas, Cas.

Meg, too, but she is not important, so Dean pretends he didn’t see her in the photos.

He finds Castiel’s personal account (Dean falls a little in love when he sees his username is @casbuzz) which still has a lot of stuff that are related to tango but even more that are not, and Dean is more interested in those. Lots of sunsets – no wait, the captions tell him they are sunrises – and some pictures with flowers and bees buzzing around them, landmarks from around the world, books with cups of coffee, selfies with (hopefully only) friends, and burgers. Lots of juicy burgers.  

A man after Dean’s own heart.

He scrolls back to the top, this time paying more attention to the photos and videos of Castiel dancing. Most of them are with Meg and another blonde woman Dean has never met, but there’s one video that catches his attention. In the video Castiel is dancing with a man.  

They hold each other from the forearms and spin around the room in endless circles, feet dangling, hands changing positions too quickly for Dean to follow, eyes locked together. It’s less than a minute, but they could have gone on dancing for all eternity, and Dean would have watched, entranced by the effortless way their bodies fit together.  

It’s different than when Castiel dances with Meg. Where he is gentle with her, he is more assertive with this man. Where he touches her like she is made out of the finest velvet money can buy, his hold is firm and unyielding with this...

@Balaroundtheworld the tag calls him.

Before his brain can catch up with his body, he has clicked the name and is scrolling through his profile.  

Balthazar – as his name is, according to his info – is a self proclaimed foodie, traveller, and eternal bachelor. He has photos from all around the world, which, okay, Balaroundtheworld should have prepared Dean for that. There are pictures of him posing in front of the Colosseum in Rome, endless beaches in the Caribbean, and blooming cherry trees in Japan. There’s Balthazar dancing in front of the Acropolis in Athens, and another one of him with a blonde girl on what looks like a cruise ship. It makes one wonder what kind of job he has to be able to afford all that. Probably drug dealing, Dean guesses.

Interestingly enough, he finds a picture of him and Castiel in front of the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, Russia, as the geotag very helpfully points out. They have their arms around each other, smiling brightly for the camera against the blinding sun. A winking emoji in the caption leaves the rest of the story to the imagination. They must be close if they travelled all the way to Russia together, Dean thinks.

He scrolls further down, through exotic locations, more clear waters than he has ever seen, and endless pictures of sushi. He gets bored pretty quickly and goes back to the video.

There’s something stuck to his throat that tries to suffocate him the more he watches. It pushes against his skin and curls around his stomach, and it makes his blood catch on fire in a way that is not exactly uncomfortable. Its treacherous tentacles attach themselves to his brain and squeeze until the only thing Dean can think of is the way Castiel’s hips move, and how his fingers look grasping another man’s arm. It could be _his_ arm, his mind says, and it provides a picture to go with it that sends an electric shock straight down his spine.

Dean shuts the screen down, blinking the fantasy away. Enough creeping for a day, he decides.

But he is a weak, weak man, and the temptation is too strong. It’s not bad, if it’s not Castiel, he tells himself, and he turns the laptop back on to google men dancing tango. He watches video after video, the dancing more elaborate and difficult than whatever he has been taught or even seen Castiel do, but they are all smooth and effortless. Sensual in a way that makes Dean hot under his collar faster than he’d like to admit. Pair in perfect harmony after pair in perfect harmony dance before his eyes until they sting, and the next thing he knows it’s well after midnight, and he still hasn’t eaten anything for dinner. He erases all evidence of his definitely-not-obsessive research, eats leftovers from yesterday without even bothering to reheat them and then tosses and turns in his bed for the rest of the night. Drifting in and out of sleep. Dreaming about Castiel dancing alone in the rain.

Dean spends the next two days talking himself into going to the milonga and then talking himself out of it. He is restless and bitchy and feels like an animal in a too small cage, to the point Charlie looks at him with worry in her eyes, and Benny offers to talk it over beers and barbeque. As if Dean would stand above a grill and spill all his feelings. Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

Thursday night comes at last, and Dean is still in his boxers an hour after his shower. He stares at his wardrobe, eyes moving between a pair of black jeans and the pyjama pants he wears around the house. He reaches for the latter. He settles on the couch, turns on the tv, and considers ordering pizza.

The opening soundtrack of Dr. Sexy is barely over before ha has changed and is out the door.

The restaurant the milonga is being held at is only half an hour away, and Dean finds a parking space big enough for his Baby almost right outside. A promising start.

The facade of the building is covered in old brick and ivy that hangs above and around the windows and makes it look older than it probably is. Inside, the lights are warm and hang low on the ceiling. They make Dean think that if Sam ever came here, he’d have to walk around them to avoid hitting his head. He chuckles at that thought as he takes the rest of the room in.  

There’s a large space cleared that is being used as a dance floor, in the middle of which stands a stone fountain, water trickling among its rocks. Tiny round tables are crowded together around the room with soft tablecloths and vases filled with wildflowers, creating a white sea with colorful waves, among which people move and sit and talk and eat. The back wall is taken up from one side to the other by the bar, behind which Dean can make out a giant wood fired oven. This is probably the  source of that delicious smell of cheese and freshly baked bread that permeates the air. The clinking of glasses and cutlery on plates is barely audible under the chatter and the mellow timbre of the violins. And there are real violins! A bandoneon too, and a guy that looks like he should be part of a metal band but is instead playing the acoustic guitar in a bistro.

And there, among the crowd, Castiel lifts a hand to wave Dean over when he spots him hovering by the door. He looks the same as he does for their lessons. Black pair of slacks, button-up with a couple of buttons left open, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Εxcept his shirt is a dark shade of maroon and looks nicer than the plain white ones he usually wears.

Dean makes his way through the tables, hands deep in his leather jacket’s pockets. He has to consciously relax his shoulders under the undisguised, curious gazes of men and women around him. He notes that he is the only one dressed in jeans and a plain shirt, but he doesn’t have enough time to feel anxious about that because another step and he has reached Castiel.

“You made it,” Castiel says with such glee that it’s hard to think why Dean ever thought he shouldn’t come.

“You made a convincing case,” Dean says. He makes a show of inspecting his surroundings and then looks back at Castiel. “This is a nice place.”

“The owner’s a friend,” Castiel says, leading him to a table. On a chair rests a trench coat Dean has seen in the dance studio plenty of times. “Do you want anything to eat? Gabriel makes an excellent carbonara.”

“I’m good thanks. Just a beer.” Even if Dean was hungry he doesn’t think he’d be able to eat. Not with the way his stomach is in a tight knot. He shrugs out of his jacket, keeping it in his hands, unsure whether he should sit in Castiel’s table or make a beeline for one of the barstools.

Castiel hums and makes a gesture to the waiter that seems to be enough to get his point across. Dean feels kind of bad for the guy. There have to be at least forty people crammed in here, and he is the only waiter in sight. Of course, a lot of people are getting their drinks straight from the bar, so at least the kid doesn’t have to deal with that.

Castiel turns with his eyes gleaming. “Ready to dance?”

“Oh- uh- I was thinking I’d watch for the first time,” Dean says, holding his leather jacket tight against his chest, like a shield that will protect him against all attempts to get him on the dance floor.

Castiel squints at him at the same time a brunette appears at the edge of Dean’s line of sight.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Meg drawls. Her dress sparkles under the light every time she moves, and her hair falls in carefully curled strands over her shoulders. If he didn’t know her (and if he didn’t know Castiel), Dean might have considered hitting on her. As it is, he’d rather stick to his own side of the room and she to hers.

She smirks like she can smell how uncomfortable he is, and Dean thinks she probably can.

“You have to dance,” Castiel insists. “A milonga is a completely different experience.”

“Oh, I really can’t-” Dean starts, but Meg decides to take matter into her own hands, snatching his jacket and tossing it on the table.

“Dance with me, sweetcheeks.”

She drags him to the dance floor, and Dean is sure there have to be skid marks left on the parquet with all the strength he put in his (unsuccessful) attempt to keep his ground.  

Before he can find an excuse and bail, Meg has him in the middle of all the dancing pairs, her hand waiting on his shoulder. On instinct, Dean takes her other hand in his palm. He stands frozen in the middle of the dance floor, eyes bulging out of their sockets. He knows Castiel is somewhere close by ready to jump in and save him, and that steadies him a little, if only because Dean really needs the saving right now. But what helps the most is when Meg presses closer to him, her head under his chin.  

“Breathe with me,” she says, her voice startlingly warm, enough so that Dean obeys without thinking. Meg inhales, holds it in for a couple of seconds, then exhales. Dean follows. They stand there breathing together until Dean feels a little more confident and the beats in the song become clearer in his ears. He takes a few careful steps, Meg easily following him, then he lets his body do whatever it remembers from all their lessons. He knows it's awkward, and Meg leads almost as much as he does, but there’s only half a song left. He manages not to step on her toes or throw her on one of the other pairs dancing around them, which is not an easy feat, considering how many of them there are.

The song ends with a cacophony of clapping and applause, not at all like the polite reaction Dean was expecting. There’s a lull for a minute or so, during which Dean has enough time to see Castiel giving him a big thumbs-up before losing sight of him among all the people swapping from their tables to the dance floor. Meg slaps him on the shoulder because a new song is starting and off they go again.  

It’s not easier, but at least Dean knows now what to expect. He doesn’t even dare to think of doing one of the fancier moves everyone else around them seems to be doing, but he thinks he does okay. He catches sight of Castiel over Meg’s head a couple of times, and he doesn’t look disappointed. Dean’s confidence gets a welcome boost. With Meg’s subtle guidance, they even finish with a pose.

“Thanks for the dance, Dean-o,” Meg says before another man steals her away for the next song. Dean takes that as his cue to go back to his table and disappear among the crowd.

“Not so fast.” Castiel catches him by the elbow before he has even made it to the second row of tables, and guides him back to the dance floor, where he introduces him to Lisa, who is kind enough to dance with an amateur and not make him feel like a loser. She is lean and pretty, and Dean thinks it’s enough to let her do her thing and spin around him while he only does the basic steps. All eyes are on her anyway.  

Then it’s Mildred’s turn, a lovely woman that takes an instant liking to him and who seems happy just to sway in place in Dean’s arms even though Castiel makes them try their best to dance. She is clumsy and although better than Dean, definitely a novice too. But the two of them have fun cracking jokes about other couples and pretending they are better than they are, so Dean dances with her for three songs before she begs for a break – _my hips are not as young as my heart, I am afraid._

Dean thinks it’s time for a break too, but Castiel pushes him towards a woman he calls Naomi. She takes a single look at him, and her lips turn into a thin line. Despite her cold exterior, she lets him take her hand and lead her around the room a couple of times. She leaves unimpressed and without having exchanged a single word with him.

Now it’s definitely time for a break.  

He finds Castiel leaning against the bar, beer in hand, his eyes following the people dancing. There’s a second glass of beer next to him.  

“Funny that I should meet you here,” Dean says.

Castiel frowns at him, before he realises Dean is joking. He gestures at the full glass.  

“Is that for me?” Dean asks.

“It _is_ what you ordered,” Castiel says. “Having fun?”

“Surprisingly, yes. Although the only thing I have learned is that I am a terrible dancer.” He takes a sip of his beer, the cool liquid a welcome refreshment.

“I was watching you,” Castiel says, and it’s a miracle Dean doesn’t choke with the way his throat tightens up immediately. “I think you did excellent, considering you’ve only had a handful of lessons.”

Dean swallows with an audible gulp, fighting against all the images of Castiel’s eyes traveling down his body. Yeah, he should really find something to distract himself. “Naomi didn’t seem to agree,” he says finally.

Castiel’s eyes slide away from him and search the crowd, until they land on Naomi, who is dancing with a short, round man that seems on the verge of tears. She looks even less happier, if that’s possible.

“Don’t let her get to you. She’s like that with everyone. Mildred loved you,” Castiel adds. “I’m surprised she let you out of her sight.”

“Mildred’s cool,” Dean says. “But you can’t call that dancing.”

“Having fun is your number one priority right now,” Castiel says. “The rest will come to you in time.”

Dean keeps his eyes on his glass, painfully aware of the few inches between his and Castiel’s shoulders as they stand next to each other. “So how did you go from having fun to making this gig your day job?”

“It started as a part time thing while I was in college,” Castiel explains, frowning down  at his almost empty glass. “And it didn’t take long before I realised I’d rather do this than whatever my parents had planned for me.”

“Your parents wanted you to become a chiropractor?” Dean asks, remembering their conversation at their last lesson.  

Castiel hums in agreement. “I got my degree to appease them, but after that they had no say in what I did with my life.”

Dean nods. “And what about... other ‘partners’? You said you tried plenty of things before settling on tango.”

“They were more like hobbies,” Castiel says. “Like yoga and pottery.”

“Dude, you’re into yoga?”  

“It’s good for my joints’” Castiel shrugs. “Your brother is also a fan from what he’s told me.”

“My brother’s also a health freak,” Dean points out and that earns him a chuckle.

“You two are very close,” Castiel says, tossing back the last drops of his drink.

Dean catches the eye of the bartender and orders another round for both of them before saying, “He’s my baby brother. You know how it is.”

“I’m an only child,” Castiel says, tipping his new glass towards Dean in a silent thank you. “Although I was very close with my cousin, Anna, growing up.”

“Was?”  

“She moved to Russia. Kinda hard to keep contact with the distance and the time difference.” Then, because Castiel catches sight of Dean’s bewildered expression at the word Russia, he adds, “Our grandma was from a small village outside of Moscow. Both our mothers brought us up with stories from our homeland, despite never having lived there themselves. We were both speaking Russian before English and everything.”

“Dude, you speak Russian?”  

“French too,” Castiel says. “As well as Spanish, Italian, and a little Bulgarian.”

“Cas, are you some kind of language guru?” Dean is only half joking when he asks that, because seriously, Castiel is awesome. That’s like five languages or something. And Dean couldn’t even learn basic Spanish while at school.

“I had to learn those languages. For tango,” Castiel says like that explains everything.  

There really was no reason for Castiel to learn any new language, as far as Dean can tell, but it’s still pretty damn impressive. Then his brain catches up with the fact that Castiel is basically half Russian and a new thought occurs to him.

“Ever been to Russia yourself?”

Dean, of course, knows for a fact that Castiel has been to Russia. He found the picture on Balthazar’s account not even three days ago. But he won’t let that little information slip.

“I have,” Castiel admits. “I visited Anna with a friend of mine.”

Dean notes the use of the word friend and mentally raises a fist in celebration. Which makes no sense because he still is (mostly, probably, maybe not) set on not making a move on Castiel. No matter what Charlie says about his student-teacher kink.

“What about you?” Castiel asks. “Ever been to another country?”

A hysterical laugh escapes Dean’s lips before he can stop it. “Oh no. God, no. That would require getting on a plane, and I’m not doing that.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“More like afraid of falling.”

It’s completely reasonable. Why would anyone ever think that getting on a metal, flying coffin that could at any point fail and plunge to their deaths is a good idea. Dean is the only person with any sensibility in the world apparently.

Castiel gives him a crooked smile, amusement written all over his face. “Statistically speaking, you are safer in an airplane than in your car.”

“Not if I’m the driver,” Dean says.

“If only you were as confident in your dancing as you are in your driving,” Castiel sighs, shaking his head, and it feels natural for Dean to elbow him on the side.

“Says you, who’s spent all night watching from the bar.”

Tilting his head to the side in thought, Castiel lets his eyes wander over the people dancing. “I like to watch first, help my students. But I will dance later.”

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “I guess Meg’s the lucky girl.”

“I do owe her a dance,” Castiel says. “But I like to keep my options open. Should we find you another dance partner?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just hang around here.”

“Why not? Come on.”

Castiel grabs him from the elbow and makes a show of dragging him away from the bar, but it’s only teasing.  

“I’ve tortured enough ladies for one night, man,” Dean says, laughing. There are not as many couples dancing now, most of the people having moved to the tables to enjoy their wine and the amazing smelling food, but the half a dozen pairs that are still going at it look like professionals.  

“Dance with me then.”

Dean snaps his head around to stare at Castiel. “I- What?”

“We’ve danced before,” Castiel insists, now tagging Dean towards the dance floor for real. “It’ll be good practice for you.”

“That was for our lesson,” Dean protests but allows Castiel to guide him through the tables.

Castiel looks at him over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Dancing for a lesson is still dancing.”

By then, they are already standing among the other couples. All men and women, Dean notices. He remembers the videos of men dancing together he had seen on the internet, but this doesn’t feel like a place where he could try something like that. Dancing with Castiel in a studio where no one could see them was one thing. Now, with everybody’s eyes trained on him, Dean doesn’t know if he can do it. Or if he can hide where all his blood is rushing to. Yeah, that might be more important in the grand scheme of things.

He leans forward, until he is sure only Castiel can hear him. “What will everybody think of two men dancing together?”

It’s so weird. He’d thought he was over being in the closet when he’d found the courage to come out to his dad – worst experience ever, by the way – but apparently, he still has some shame left in him. Which is ridiculous, because he knows none of these people, and he is probably never going to see any of them again. But this is not even about two men dancing together. It’s Cas, and Cas is different, because he is not just any man, and this is not just dancing. Not for Dean.  

Castiel frowns. “Nothing. Why would they care that two men are dancing together?”

Dean does not have a good answer for that, but he still opens and closes his mouth uselessly like a fish in search of one.

Castiel takes his hand and guides him into zero position, his mouth tilting in that teacher-mode of his. “Did you know,” he asks as he leads Dean through the first steps, “tango started out as a dance between men in the brothels of Argentina.”

Dean did not know that, but he is too busy trying to keep up with Castiel and willing his burning face to calm down to answer.

Castiel is more demanding now than in their lessons. He keeps a faster pace and although his hands remain gentle on Dean, he is definitely bolder with the way he leads him through the steps. His eyes remain half-closed for most of the song, but he steals glances at Dean every now and then that make Dean weak at the knees with the intensity in them.  

It’s everything Dean had dreamed about ever since he’d seen the video of Castiel dancing with Balthazar. No, it’s more than what he’d wanted, and at the same time it’s not enough. His heart is beating so fast he can’t even hear the music anymore. He falters in his steps a couple of times, but Castiel squeezes his hand reassuringly, and they move on.  

The song ends too soon, and Castiel takes a step back. Dean misses his body heat almost immediately, and every cell in his body is screaming for him to press himself against Castiel again. He doesn’t.  

Instead he comes up with some half-assed excuse and runs away.

_Friday, June 23_ _rd_ _– Saturday, July 21_ _st_ _, 2018_

As promised, for the next four Saturdays, Dean has lessons together with Sam and Jessica. They are now two hour-long instead of just one, and they are more intense than ever. Jessica alternates between dancing with Sam and Dean, and they dance with Meg when Jessica is with the other one.

This means that Dean doesn’t have a single moment alone with Castiel, and that he has to keep his face carefully neutral every time Castiel does something like touch him on the shoulder to correct his posture or grab him to demonstrate a move again. He thinks he does a good enough job. Sam still ends up teasing him a couple of times.

The good news is that now that they can see each other dance, Dean realises he is better than Sam. Not by far, but noticeably. Even though both have been training with Castiel for the same amount of time, Dean has the advantage of going to the milonga every Thursday.

He does attend the milonga. He doesn’t dance with Castiel again – because Castiel doesn’t ask him to – but he dances with Meg, who is surprisingly almost as good a teacher as Castiel. When Dean gets over her snarky attitude, and all the hitting and punching and starts paying attention to what she is saying, he finds out that all her advice is correct. And useful.

He gets better, and he meets most of the people that regularly attend the milongas. He even has a few regular women who dance with him. Mildred, of course, but also Lisa, and a blonde named Bella. He even dances with Naomi for a second time, and Castiel tells him that he can take that as a compliment from her.

He tries the carbonara Castiel had recommended, and he swears off all other italian places for the rest of his life, because this carbonara is heavenly.Castiel finds this amusing, and Gabriel, the owner that he meets on his third night there, appreciates it enough to promise him free Margaritas from now on.

He has beers with Castiel at the bar, and Gabriel makes good on his promise for free Margaritas. They chat, and they joke, and they laugh, and Dean’s reservations about asking out his teacher are quickly crumbling to dust. He runs out of excuses at the same time he realises something has changed.

Time passes quickly in a blur of work, tango, and wedding preparations, and Dean has barely enough time to worry about Castiel keeping a careful distance away from him. He _has_ noticed, and he _does_ worry, but sometimes he has so many things in his to-do list that he really can’t spare the extra brain cells for that.

Their last lesson ends in a blink of an eye. This time it’s only Jessica and Dean in the studio. Sam will show up after that, and Jessica will have her final lesson with him. It feels like Dean should say something to Castiel, if only because he is staring at him like it’s the last time they’ll see each other. Which is ridiculous, because Dean will still attend the milongas. Νot this Thursday, because it’s too close to the wedding, but definitely the next one.

The song ends, and Dean dips Jessica back. From the corner of the room Castiel claps, a huge smile spreading on his face.  

“Amazing,” Castiel says. “You two are ready.”

Jessica jumps up and down in excitement and rushes forward to squeeze him in a hug. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait for everyone to see. I have to make sure the videographer gets the best angles.”

She wanders away, phone already in hand.Dean thinks he can hear her mumbling something about a rehearsal for the video, which he really does not want to do, but he knows he will, if Jessica asks.

He is left in the room alone with Castiel, who stands a few polite steps away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“So,” Dean says. “Pity five, or solid eight?”

“Perfect ten,” Castiel answers, and for a moment all the worry lines on his face are smoothed over by the smile that spreads from his lips to his eyes. “It was a privilege working with you, Dean.”

“Come on, man. Don’t go all professional on me. We’re friends.”

Castiel squints at him, and it instantly takes Dean back to their first meeting. Same room, same people, same expression.

“We are?”

Dean startles. “I consider us to be.”

“Huh,” Castiel breathes out, and all the air leaves his body. Dean feels like that was a breath he’d been holding for far too long. “I thought... Never mind.”

“You thought what?” Dean asks confused.

“Well you seemed uncomfortable when I asked you to dance at the milonga. So-”

It's clear that there are more things that Castiel wants to say, and Dean definitely has a lot to answer, but the door opens, and Jessica returns with Sam in toe. The moment for their conversation passes before it even begins. Dean will have to wait until after the wedding to talk this over.

_Saturday, July 28_ _th_ _, 2018_

Dean has heard that there can’t be a wedding without something going wrong, but Sam’s and Jessica’s wedding is the exception. Everything is absolutely, disgustingly, heartbreakingly perfect. Jessica looks beautiful in her wedding dress, and Sam can’t hold back his tears when he sees her walking down the aisle with her father by her side. Dean, ever prepared, hands him a napkin he’d hid in his pocket especially for this moment, and he makes a silent agreement with Bobby to never mention he saw Bobby wipe away a few tears, if Bobby does the same for him.

Sam and Jessica say their vows and exchange their wedding rings, and before Dean can really understand what just happened, they are married, and he has a new, official sister-in-law. A sister-in-law that he leads to the dance floor later, and they absolutely kill it. They nail it. They are so awesome that Dean doesn’t even bother to be embarrassed when Charlie wolf-whistles at him.

Jessica falls in his arms and squeezes him almost to death with tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you so much. I’ll never forget this.”

Dean sneaks an arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. “It’s your wedding day,” he says simply, and that’s the only explanation needed.

She beams up at him before Sam appears to sweep her away for more dancing. Not tango though. Something their guests can participate in.

“You looked amazing out there,” Castiel says. Dean jumps a little before flushing all the way to his hair roots.  

“You’re here,” he says, because he is an idiot.   

“Jessica invited me,” Castiel says, hands held loosely behind his back. “Meg is somewhere, mingling in the crowd. I believe she is searching for tonight’s victim.”

That sounds exactly like what Meg would do at a wedding. Dean laughs. “Weddings are perfect for one-night stands.”

Castiel hums in agreement. Dean stands by his side, shoulders almost touching but not really, stealing a sideway glance at him. He looks handsome – of course he does, he is Cas! - but his fingers fidget nervously behind his back. They have left something in the middle, and normally Dean is not one to talk about his feelings, especially not at his brother’s wedding, but he thinks this time he should take a chance.

Castiel said he thought Dean was uncomfortable because he had asked him to dance together, which couldn’t be furthest from the truth, but also explains why he hadn’t asked him again. Dean would have loved another dance with Castiel.  

He gulps, preparing himself for all possible answers. “Do you... wanna dance? With me, I mean.”

Castiel goes stiff immediately. “There’s people watching,” he says carefully, and Dean can’t believe that Castiel still thinks that Dean doesn’t want people to see them dancing together.  

Although it does makes sense, he realises. Because Dean has never asked Castiel to dance before, has he? And based on his foolish blabbering, and the way he had disappeared afterwards the one time Castiel asked, it’d make sense for him not to try again.

“I don’t care,” he says and tentatively touches a hand on Castiel’s elbow, letting his fingers travel lower, until they are against Castiel’s palm.  

Castiel lets him hold his hand, but his eyes search Dean’s face uncertainly. “I didn’t know there was more tango on the wedding playlist.”

“Just dance with me,” Dean says. “I’ll ask the DJ to replay my song with Jessica if you want tango, but me, I’ll take anything. I’ll do the Macarena with you, if that’s what you want. Dance with me, and also let me take you out to dinner and make up for being an idiot and not asking sooner.”

The words rush out of him in a wave that can’t be stopped. There’s so much more he wants to say, like how he gets all flustered just thinking about dancing with Castiel, and how he has started writing texts only to delete them again before sending them, but the words get stuck in his throat and never make it out. He doesn’t have time to say any of those things. Dean doesn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed for asking his hot teacher out on his brother’s wedding. He only has time to feel anxious about Castiel’s answer. Not for long, though.

Castiel’s expression softens, and he laces their fingers together, squeezing. Everyone can stare at them all they want, and Sam can joke about this, and Charlie and Benny can make their little bets, but at this moment Dean looks at Castiel, and he doesn’t care.

“Lead the way,” Castiel says.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi to me on [ tumblr! ](http://kitmistry.tumblr.com/)


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